Ascension
by semiiramiis
Summary: When Lepharists capture a daeva, his plight is too much for the Lepharist leader's sister to handle...
1. Chapter 1

No

It simply was not possible. The girl's heart froze in her chest as she regarded the scene before her. Regh, her brother, stood tall, proud, defiant; his fingerclaws wrapped deeply in the hair of the man he and his cronies dragged with him.

"Behold!" Regh bellowed, and she flinched at the sound. This couldn't be happening. It was an impossibility, a nightmare. "One of the blessed Daevas!"

And, unlike last time, he was correct. This was no insane witch man claiming divinity, claiming Aion's touch, this… was a Daeva. How she knew that, she wasn't certain, but she was. And that made this trouble. Made this a crime. No, a sin. A very abomination against everything that was, and was meant to be. She felt suddenly nauseous, cold, and very, very distant from the jubiliant cries of those who surrounded her. Aion turned away from her with this…

No. She had been placed here to wait. Bide her time.

"Anything to say for yourself, Daeva?" Regh challenged, stepping back from the man. Released from their grasp, if not the chains binding him, the man stood, his eyes coasting over the gathering crowd. They stuttered over the girl, paused, returned for a longer stare, before he locked eyes with Regh.

"No, Lepharist. I have no words for you." He answered evenly, calmly. "For you would hear none of mine…" His glance took in the crowd again, "Nor would they. Why waste my breath?"

The girl bit her lip until she tasted copper. Certainly they did not mean to hurt this? Well, anymore than they already had, for blood stained his face and matted his long hair. He had not gone down without a fight, and she had no idea how he'd fallen to this. His inherent divinity poured off of him, but somehow Regh had brought this down? _How_?

Macz raised a heavy fist and the Daeva merely studied him warily, beaten but not cowed. Macz growled, pushing his bull heavy body forward, but Regh stopped him. "No. We can't kill him, you dolt." He snapped, and that got the first hint of concern to cross the Daeva's lovely features. "It's what he wants, can't you see?"

Death would be an escape, and Regh had just denied him that. The girl sighed, it just got worse and worse. And by the darkness she sensed, this was just the beginning.

Rasmus cursed internally. Of all the piss poor luck. He would have rather been left where he was, if he understood the way this was unfolding. At least the Balaur would probably just kill him, and that he could handle. However, this was beginning to sound dire. In spite of his own predicament, his eyes kept wanting to fall on the leggy girl child making her self small and overlooked in the back. She was filthy, as most of the Lepharist villagers were. Poorly clad. Barefoot, her chipped claws digging into the dirt. He could sense her distress, flowing like a cool spring under the hot death and rage of her people.

Poor, poor little…he sighed when he finally grasped it. Aion worked in mysterious ways, and granting its favor and divinity to a child born into the Lepharists would most certainly be an exercise in that. The child who watched him out of tortured eyes was destined, if she lived through all of this, to be just as he was. A gift to her people…those people who would turn on her for it. Destroy her through their greed and envy. He tested the chains again, slowly. No, the fight with the Balaur had taken too much out of him, and the pounding afterwards had only exacerbated it. He was not fit to break these, and certainly not fit to fight an entire village of hale Lepharists. They targeted the blessed, and grew twistedly strong for it.

They wanted him alive. He frowned with the idea. Dead, he merely returned to the blessed obelisk his soul was stored in, protected by Aion and the priests of the Great Temple of Pandaemonium. It was annoying. It was inconvenient. He still felt pain in spite of his immortality, and there was always the unspoken embarassment of appearing newly reborn in the Temple, but he could tolerate that. He had before. But alive, that hinted all too much of the rumors surfacing… Lost daevas. The missing, never reappearing at their obelisks. Just…gone. A tragedy for his family, a lurking question for his friends and those he fought with. An insult to everyone else.

He sighed, the little one would just have to remain in Aion's shadow…for now. He had his hands full with his own spiritual wellbeing right then.

"No promises of our certain death?" The one in charge demanded, and Rasmus looked into his eyes. Oh, Aion _did_ cast its blessings in odd ways. This one had the same thick, dark hair as the girl. The same razor straight nose, and herd of freckles grazing across it. The same cheekline. He was tall, and the girl hinted at great height to come. Hers was a hint at an unnaturally blessed height, but so far, that aspect of her touch was still obscured to all but those who knew what they were looking at.

"Death is certain for all those not touched by Aion's gaze." Rasmus finally stated, knowing where this was going to take him. Goading the Lepharists with the very truth that caused them to revolt in the first place was not the wisest course, but he would not fall from that truth. If he was to be destroyed, he would be destroyed for what he was, not hiding from it.

"Of course it is." The young man rolled a lip in disgust. "Good for those who are?"

Rasmus shrugged. He was merely blessed, but had no understanding of how or why. Like most, he rarely questioned, and simply took his place on the line, protecting _these _against the onslaught of their enemies. No. He caught the girl out of the corner of his eye, afraid to look directly at her and endanger her through that attention. He took his place on the line to protect that. To protect those unmarked and unable to protect themselves. He sighed, and stood to his full height, staring at the young man. He would not give into this posturing, his was a great and fine Pandaemonium family, blessed with daevas more often than not. He would be worthy of them until the last moment…

Mori tried to close her ears against the blessed one's cries, but it was for naught. Even holding them closed, she still heard him clearly. She shouldn't be able to, over the vicious, roaring glee of the crowd, but it was as if his was the only voice for miles. She felt beyond sick, enraged. They didn't plan to kill him, they planned to _destroy_ him. One of Aion's creations. Tear what made him special and wondrous from him, drag him down to what they were, and then take it up from him. As if that were possible. Aion's blessed were just that, chosen. That could not be taken from them, merely destroyed.

No one was coming for him. That had been her hope, that a legion of outraged daevas fresh from Pandaemonium were on their way to rescue him in a great, glorious exercise. But no….

"Mori!" Regh laughed, and his very voice sickened her. He was the one who had cared for her since their parents' death, and now she couldn't stand anything about him. Her beloved brother, an abomination. That was the final straw, she turned from him and vomitted, going to her knees in convulsions. "Ah, pet." He breathed, resting his hand on her back. "You shouldn't be here. Too much for you to see, so young. Come, I'll put you to bed." He picked her up, gently, as he always had moving through the crowd as it parted for him.

"Why?" She finally asked when he made his way to the quiet cottage, resting her on her mat. "He's done nothing to us…"

He sighed, resting a cool hand on her brow. "Mori, Mori. Pretty Mori. One of these days, you be…more than pretty Mori. One of these days, you will be beautiful Mori. And maybe then you will understand that I do this for you. For all of us. I dread the day when pretty Mori grows up, becomes beautiful Mori and gains the attention of some spoiled little daeva brat who thinks he can have anything he wants because he's _blessed_. I've seen it happen so many times, Mori. They come, they see what they want, they take it, and the girl comes back years later, used and thrown away. They don't age, but the women they take sure as hell do. They grow old, they grow wide, they grow boring and that's the end of that. I want to see you with a fine man as a _husband_, Mori. One who will love you, care for you, grow old with you, and give you a good many fine children to be there as you age. Those discarded by the daevas come back with gold, and jewels, but empty. None one cares for them when they grow old. No. Either we should _all_ be blessed, or none of us be. Imagine what it will be like when we all are, Mori. We will be their lessers no more. If a handful is good….surely all of Asmodae blessed would be a wonder?" He frowned, pulled her blanket up around her. "Too much for too little a girl to grasp…yet." He chuckled. "One of these days, Mori, you will be great. You will help me lead our people. But, right now you're just a little girl, who's had too exciting a day and needs her sleep."

Mori slept. And dreamed. And always, the dreams were the same. She could fly, borne on the breezes by a glorious set of crimson and black wings. But this time, the dream was brighter, more focused. She could see more than just the wings. She could see her feetclaws, each of them capped by a razor edged covering of metal and gems. She carried a staff, and her very long hair swept in the breeze behind her.

The daeva must not be destroyed. Regh must not be permitted to commit such an atrocity before Aion's eyes. If he did so, his soul would be condemned. She owed him so much, she could not allow such to be. He was a good soul, just deluded. Somehow, she understood that with crystal clarity in the dream. And then she was awake. Just like that. It was still dark. They were still celebrating. And she could still feel the blessed one's anguish as they tore into his very soul. Could not, _must_ not, be tolerated. She stood up, and moved through the only village she had ever known. Their attentions were elsewhere, and all the doors were unlocked. Who would they bar against? Each other? It was easy for the graceful Mori to slip unnoticed into the tiny Alchemy shop, and take a bottle. Equally easy to make certain that the contents of that bottle found their way into numerous jugs, cups, cauldrons.

Rasmus felt the girl approach. The village had grown oddly silent, if he could gather his thoughts together, he could probably figure out why, but the cold emptiness within him, combined with the agonizing pain had hampered his ability to string sense together.

"Daeva?" She whispered shyly, and he managed to raise his head to look at her. Oh, yes. Any doubts he might have had evaporated at that moment. He was in the presence of the most perfect of creations, a nascent daeva. A child, still innocent, marked by greatness. So much potential, still unrealized. A tightly budded bloom just showing the first tinges of color. It was a wonder enough to help chase the pain away.

"You should go, little one." He breathed. If they came for him, there was a chance they would miss this, their senses filled with rage and horror. She could be slaughtered as a Lepharist, before she had the chance to become what she was touched to be.

"They will sleep for hours." She noted, and he finally got his thoughts together enough to look beyond her. The entire village was, indeed, asleep. She held up a key, and he felt a grin fight its way through the mind numbing pain and rise to the surface. "You are the one who needs to go, great one. I will not let my brother do this to himself. To you." She unlocked his bonds, and every muscle in his body screamed when they were no longer there to hold him upright. He staggered, and she tried to support him. She was tall, for a child, but withy thin and fragile. He was the one who, in the end of the scramble, ended up holding her. Her touch was cool, her eyes trusting as she ran a dirty hand over his brow. And in its passing, there was less pain. Her touch did nothing against the howling, crying emptiness in his soul, but his body responded. And right now, that was just what he needed. He could see about the invisible damage later, but he was fit enough to flee this place.

"You heal things. With a touch and a wish." He noted, coursing through the sleeping bodies, filching a weapon here, a helmet there. She did not respond, only watched him out of unnatural golden eyes. Soon, even her love blinded brother would have to note the obvious. Or he had already and was denying it to himself… This one had less than a hand of years before her destiny would be undeniable. She stood as tall as an average grown man, but was still very much a child. Her eyes were no color he'd ever seen except under the regal brows of a fellow daeva. She healed. Her ascension was not immediate, she would be probably be permitted to fully mature before it came, unless she was put into a situation where it was ascend or be destroyed. But it was, in his grasp of time, close.

"I….do."

"You dream that you fly."

She shuffled her claws in the dust, staring at them. "I…do. Doesn't everyone? My brother told me he dreams he flies all the time."

_But yours are real. Yours are Aion preparing you for your journey ahead. Your brother's are merely wish dreams. _He glanced at the young man's sleeping body, felt his sister bristle behind him. "No." She hissed, "You will not hurt him. That is my price…"

He spun on her. "He has committed a grave crime…" It was a lowly, dishonorable act he was about to do, but he saw little choice. He needed her. He needed her help and her healing to see him through to the nearest support. He needed her compliant if not completely with him. And there was no way he would ever leave this here, not now. "Against me."

Her chin trembled and great tears welled up in those eyes. Rasmus felt about as low as he ever had, but what must be done, must be done. In the end, she must be taken from here, or the great crime of a once beloved brother fallen to tear his own sister's soul apart would happen. And enough of those horrors passed without one happening under his nose. "Either he pays…." He shifted the newly secured sword in his hand, "Or you do, little one. Your choice."

"I….I…." She blushed furiously, but he stood his ground. "Of course, I will…"

"Good." He snapped, taking a fragile wrist in his grasp, towing her along behind him as he gathered food and supplies. He didn't know what she had given them, but it seemed to be working. He just wasn't certain for how long, and he didn't really want to wait around and see.


	2. Chapter 2

It was just like Regh had predicted, only it happened well in the pretty Mori stage and had not waited for the beautiful Mori stage. She had her doubts that there would actually be a beautiful Mori stage, but this what she got for becoming involved in things that were obviously none of her business and well beyond her ken. In spite of his injuries, the daeva set a grueling pace…he certainly wished to be as far from possible from the village when they started to come to. She completely understood that, but every mile he put between them was another mile that Regh would have to cross when he came in pursuit. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't she have just left well enough alone? What a fool she was… Now she would become one of those empty, used up old women with nothing to show for their lives but a pile of tawdry pretties. But if it kept Regh and the others safe, it was a sacrifice she would have to make. They would be smart enough to run when they woke to find the daeva gone….she hoped.

Dawn came, and finally the daeva paused in his headlong progress, scanning the foothills around him. He nodded sharply, as if someone had spoken to him, and moved down a narrow wash. There, well hidden in the shadows was a shallow cave. Reigh would never find this; even Mori had not noted it until the daeva vanished into it. "Come, girl." He ordered, and she followed obediently. It was dry. Sheltered. Not bad at all. All she needed to do was let the daeva fall asleep, and walk away. She'd conveniently forget where the cave was, of course, she didn't want a repeat of having to rescue him again. And everything would go right back to normal.

He unrolled a bed roll that he had taken, and motioned for her to lay there. She was a little nonplussed that he made it clear he expected her to be on the wall ward side; it meant she'd have to clamber over him to get out. "Warmer for you this way, little one." He explained, and she fought her exasperated sigh. Of course it would be warmer if she was the one against the wall, his warmth beside her. But she didn't intend to stay long enough for that to be an issue. He handed her food, more than Regh could ever spare, and she closed her mind to the fact it had been stolen from her neighbors. Never turn down food, ever. If she didn't eat it, then he would, or it would go to waste. It was good…filling…she was finally getting warm, and very very sleepy.

The child dropped like a rock, and Rasmus snorted a small chuckle to himself. She was not outwardly devious, her intentions to leave him had played across her face at every second. Her spirit was in it, but it was still encased in the body of a child. An ill fed, tired, cold child who had just been force marched a few miles, placed in a sheltered warm spot and filled with food. She'd safely sleep for hours.

"Sleep well, little one." He wished, pulling a fur lined cover over her. It was good and well that she was undisciplined, untrained and unable to hold her body's needs at bay, because he couldn't remain awake much longer himself. He was asleep just moments later, his breathing smoothing out as he gave up the fight to flee farther. He was in Aion's hands now.

She was still dead asleep when he woke, her breathing barely audible. That was fine, it was still light outside and he preferred to move in full darkness. Not much farther and he'd be safe, with people able and willing to keep extra eyes on her when he was unable to. He made a small meal, he felt lightheaded and nauseous, and she was so undernourished that to over feed her achieved this result, sleep, and he needed her moving.

"Little one." He finally reached over to nudge her. She woke like a small animal, blinking and rubbing her eyes. Again, she wore her emotions on her face, equal parts horror and consternation chased each other across her features when she realized she had slept before he had. "Time to wake up. We'll be in Alsig before dawn." He stated, and her expression turned tragic. Poor little thing. "Come here."

She came slowly, warily, kneeling before him where he patted his hand. He took hers, placing one of them on his shoulder and the other on his own forehead, leaning against it. She was a healer. It was instinctive, visceral, especially if he called for it through his own soul. _Small sister, blessed by Aion. Heal me, please. Make me able to carry on to Alsig. Aion knows I mean you no harm, that you are safe with me… _

She growled rebelliously, but without training her denial of him meant little. She was meant to heal him, and it worked. He could feel the warmth, the easing of his pain, flow from her. "Thank you." He offered, fully comprehending the betrayed stare she gave him. How could he give thanks for something he had forced from her? The betrayed stare stayed when he passed her small meal to her. Hours before he had given her enough to render her nearly comatose, but not now. He was too tired, too…broken… to try and explain. It was just going to be an argument anyway, and he had no strength for any of those.

"Let's go." He ordered, and again she obediently fell into step behind him, outwardly compliant, but he could feel her stare boring into the point where his hair gave into his backmane, willing him harm. "Your chance for that ended when you let me go, little one." He finally broke the silence.

"Chance for what?" She asked.

"Me to go away. Me to leave you alone. Why did you release me?" He knew the answer already, but he wanted her to wonder on it, mull on it. She was a healer, blessed by Aion. Her very existence was devoted to healing and protection. She could not stand by and allow harm to happen to another like her.

"If Regh destroys a daeva, what answer can he give when the god calls him to task for it ?" She asked, and he nodded. True enough. Valid enough. If that was how she was processing it now, that was fine.

"Your brother means to destroy many." He finally said it, and he felt her glare pop like a bladder and fall away. "Are you also a Lepharist? Follow their beliefs?"

Her reply was a long time in coming but he let her have the time. This close to her ascension, she would already be receiving the visions, the dreams, to ease her way. They did not work well with a Lepharist's viewpoint. "I do not believe a blessed gift and duty can be stolen from another and taken up by the thief of it." She finally stated. "Aion chooses what it chooses. That is beyond my knowing how or why. And it's equally beyond Regh's knowing. He's afraid. And he does this because he fears."

"And what does he fear?" Rasmus had heard all points of Lepharist rhetoric. He was just curious which flavor had been the accepted one in her household. Was it the unfairness one? The indignation? Jealousy?

"He fears….feared…. that when I grew up and became lovely that I would be taken away by daevas to serve them. I guess he was right after all."

Rasmus stumbled, and only partially from weakness and pain. That statement hurt, because it happened all too often. And now, he was forcing the man's child sister to come with him…

"Well, sort of." She continued. "He thought it would wait until I was old enough."

Even worse. The only balm that Rasmus had to comfort himself with was the honest belief that he was acting in her best interest. "I grow tired of calling you little one, little one. My name is Rasmus. And yours?"

Another poorly disguised attempt at deception crossed her face. "Moriah." She lied, and he nodded.

"Lovely name." He did not lie in answer. The idea of lying over such a thing confused him, what did she gain by it? No, no gain. That was a wish. She wished she was called such, and offered it up in hope. After a long moment, her face fell and she shook her head. "No. It's just Mori. Nothing so grand or fine for me..."

"If you wish to be called Moriah, then I will call you Moriah." Grand and fine. It was a daeva's name, and one day not so far away, this one would be a daeva. A daeva named Moriah. She would let go of her lesser name the same way she would let go of her lesser self.

"Really? Regh said…." Her voice faded off and he sighed. He could only imagine what the brother had to say about that.

"I'm not Regh. If your heart, if your soul….if your very dreams call you Moriah, then Moriah is your name."

"How did you know that?"

He shook his head. That was nowhere that he wanted to go when he was fighting for every step. Too much breath and fury would be involved in the argument that would spawn, and he had neither to spare on such frivolous things. "Your voice yearns for such grand and fine things." He settled on. When he could get her to Pandaemonium, her world would be full of grander and finer things, but right now he could let her openly claim her soul's chosen name.

He saw lights in the distance, and squinted in the darkness. Yes, Alsig. Bless the shadows; finally something was going his way. Alsig had everything that he needed, food, shelter, a trained healer, access to communications, other daevas, Archons to respond to the Lepharist threat. He glanced at his new foundling, fighting back another sigh. Much as he hated it, it was something he couldn't let go. She might even forgive him one of these centuries. Probably not, but it was a sin he would carry. "See, Moriah. Alsig." Some of his excitement must have bled into his voice, because her grumble was less than pleased. She would not have another day to plot and plan her escape, once he made Alsig, there were others who would help keep watch on her. He could give into the encroaching failure he felt burying him. He could sleep.

"Who goes?" The challenge was sharp, and Rasmus was impressed. They'd been seen far out. The watch was on their toes.

"Rasmus…" He moved towards the lights of the picket, hand on the girl's shoulder, knowing she would hesitate. The watch was calm, secure… they knew him and his voice well. Their nonchalance dropped the moment he became visible, and, judging by their reactions, he must look as badly as he felt.

"Lord Rasmus….who…._what_? No, do not answer." The veteran at watch galvanized into motion, calling his replacement with a strident tone, and moving close. "We'll get you…." His eyes fell on Moriah, "And the little one seen to. You both seem to be on your last leg. Then we'll work out the particulars."

Sound and sane enough for Rasmus. He was more than happy to let the man lead the way. More than happy to be settled into a nice bed, while the innkeeper rested a fine array of food in front of Moriah. She ate until she could eat no more, with the expected results.

"What goes, milord? You look like you've tangled with death and come out the loser…"

"Your Lepharists seem to have grown claws lately." Rasmus sighed. "A group of them picked me off after I tracked down a Balaur incursion in the area."

The man glared, and spat. "Damned fools. Want what they don't have. And I've run into more than my fair share of daevas who don't want what they do have. No one is ever happy with their lot, it seems."

"Hmmm." That was probably true enough. While Rasmus couldn't conceive of not being exactly what he was, the man was correct. He'd also run into a great many daevas who would just like to go home with their mortal families again and live their short lives for all they were worth. Depressing. Confusing. But truthful. "Seriously, however…" he searched his mind for the man's name and came up empty. He was so exhausted his lips were going numb, but he had to make certain he made his points before he went down for the next month or so. "They're taking daevas. They're using some sort of machine…it feels like my soul was shredded…" His hands were shaking and he glared at them. "Much more and I don't know…." The problem was, he really did know. Much more, and Rasmus would have ceased to be. He just couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. "They may not have found how to make themselves daevas. But I'm afraid they may have found a way to destroy us trying…"

"How did you get loose? If they had you…?"

"The little one…" He jerked his chin at the sleeping Moriah curled up on the floor next to the fireplace. "Drugged the lot of them and set me free." The smart thing would have been to just have killed them all then. But no. He'd never done anything that honorless in his life. And he would not consign the little one to living out the rest of her immortal days burdened with the knowledge that her act to save him had ended in each and every one of her people, her village, and her blood, slaughtered while they lay in the helpless stupor she had put them in. By now, they were awake. Aware he had escaped, and only a fool would not realize he would unleash the Archon's wrath on them. They were forewarned and it was an honorable fight…on his end.

"She's one of them."

"Until she ascends and is torn apart by them." He took a deep swallow of his wine, tasting the under notes of several medicinal herbs stewed in it. "Her family may be Lepharists. Her soul, however, is one of Aion's blessed. A very fine, strong example of that…she must not fall without…" The room swam around him, and he felt the man's hand on his shoulder. "My sister. She must be given over to my sister until I am capable of watching over her. My sister…should not know she is a nascent. The child is not ready to face that, and my sister…would not withhold that. Just let her know that I want the child cared for…as if she is one of my own."

Annlyn would take that statement more literally than figuratively, and he'd have hell to pay for it later. But that would be less strife than alienating the little girl further. He was well equipped to handle his sibling. His foundling, probably not.

"Of course, milord. As you command… I will see to it personally. Sleep now…."

Darkness snatched him away.

Warmth was a rare treat to Mori. Regh had never managed to afford the clothing that would guarantee it, and there had always been just enough fuel to cook the food, but no more. But she was certainly warm now, and opened a wary eye. A fireplace, not a cooking pit, greeted her gaze. An exceptionally fine one, surrounded by intricately carved stonework, with a graceful iron screen. Where was she?

She sat upright, staring around in disbelief. She had never seen, never contemplated, nor even ever _dreamed_ of a room like this one. She slept on a blanket pulled over an amazingly bright, jewel patterned rug. The walls were lined with shelves, and those shelves were filled with books. A great window of a myriad of colored and clear glass panes let in a bath of wan light across the floor.

"You wake, finally." The voice came from a high backed chair, the front of it turned away from Mori so that she did not immediately see the speaker. It was female, that she was certain of. Her stomach plummeted when the woman stood and moved around the chair. Another daeva, this one lacked the vibrant glow that Rasmus possessed even after Regh's attack on him, but she made up for it in the glory of her appearance. Mori had never seen such clothing…such hair.

"You are Moriah, I am told." The woman stated, gazing in fascination at Mori. "I am Annlyn. Rasmus is my brother. Apparently his last request was that I care for you."

_Last_ request? Surely the woman didn't mean what it sounded like she did? He couldn't be _gone_. If he was, then it had all been for nothing! She had betrayed Regh, after all he had done…

"Last? He's not dead!" Or he hadn't been at Alsig, the last time she'd seen him. But he had looked terrible. He had felt terrible when he had pulled on that part of her soul she wasn't supposed to share with others. It seemed like an odd thing to hide an ability to do good…to heal…but the dreams had been quite explicit. Regh was never to know. None of them were.

The woman chuckled. "Oh, no! He's not dead." She frowned, as if she'd tasted something unpleasant. "Although he is much worse than I've ever seen him come home as. The soul healers have been working with him for days… and that I've never heard of. I'm told he will recover fully, in time."

Good. It had not been for nothing, then. The blessed one lived. Would make a full recovery. Regh was not guilty of a sin on that level, yet "Where am I?" And how far away was home from here? Regh must be worried mad that she was gone, it had been at least two days now…

"Pandaemonium."

Mori's stomach plummeted. Pandaemonium? Surely not. She climbed to her feet and strode across the rugs, ignoring the lovely woman's gaze as she did so, headed for the vast window. "Oh….no." She cried when she got a good look out of them. She had never seen Pandaemonium, but this could certainly match many of the fanciful descriptions what few traders she'd met had shared with her. Such grandeur…

"I know. The dolt insists on living in _this_ part of the city. Why, I'm never quite sure. But his instructions were that you are to be kept here, in his home." She walked up next to Mori, watching the same vista. "Anyways. He's going to be kept in the Temple for quite some time. And I have a rather rude question…"

"What?" She rested her hand against the cold glass. So Pandaemonium wasn't warmer than home, the great house around her was simply that luxurious.

"Don't you ever bathe?"

Mori stared at her out of stunned and hurt eyes. "Of course…" She stuttered, poised between shame and anger. How dare this insinuate that Regh had not done his best? "My brother made certain I had a bath every week. No matter how cold it was." And some of those baths had been bitter affairs that she'd prefer not to revisit.

"Every week." The woman chuckled. "And put you right back into the clothes, and I use that term loosely, that you had on before."

Now, some of Regh's hatred made sense to Mori. Spoiled, rotten, little… This was blessed, and chose to waste that blessing on vacuous stupidity. "Brat."

The woman pulled back, her fine brows jumping for her hairline. "What….did….you just call me?"

"I called you a brat. I bet you never had to take a bath out of a bucket before. And you stand there and sneer at me for having to." Well, the quickest way out of Pandaemonium was to have this fancy little piece of work have her forcibly ejected from the city… She'd probably take some cuffs on the way out, but things were as they were.

She didn't expect the woman's bell like laughter. "Now I see why Ras has decided you're his." She grinned. It was possibly one of the worst statements that Mori could consider hearing at this point, and she dropped into a sullen silence at the thought.

"I just want to go home. Please, lady daeva. Excuse my impertinence…" Regh would go purple at the idea of groveling before this, but whatever it took. "I don't want to be your brother's toy. I'm sure there are others who would be honored…"

The amusement fell from the woman's face. "Toy? Girl, whatever are you going on about? I was told that my brother owes you a great debt, and that, as soon as he is released from his recuperation at the Temple, he will be the one to repay you for it. I was told I am to care for you until that point. Toy… no… Ras is most certainly not that sort. The souvenirs he brings home are a little more…martial… in nature. Swords of fallen enemies type of male ego boosting. And," her nostrils flared in undisguised disgust, "I can most certainly assure you that if, and that's a huge if, he did… It would not be a child like you. That is a repulsive, terrible thing you're accusing him of." Finally, there was a spark, a coal, of something real in this one. "I saw my brother when they brought him in, and the inference was that you helped him escape from whatever caused that. I'm certain his mind was on other things than that, you…you...brat."

"I want to go home." It was that simple. If she was truly here to be repaid, well, that wasn't necessary. A true repayment would be a few kinah for her pockets, a nice coat, a few pounds of dried meat and a quick trip back.

"I don't know where your home is, Moriah."

The problem was, neither did Mori, precisely. She knew the five miles around it as closely as she knew the backs of her own hands, but beyond that, no. "Rasmus and I made it to Alsig after two nights of travel…" Two nights of hard, fast travel. The pace that he had set, could have been ten miles a night. Maybe even more. And in the total dark, there had been no landmarks to judge which way they had travelled in.

"Doesn't your village have a name? " Annlyn demanded, moving to a large book sitting open on a table and securitizing the page.

"Nooo…" Now that it was mentioned, that was rather odd. But then, there had been very few traders, very few travelers at all passing through.

"But Rasmus was there, if you travelled with him from there to Alsig…"

Mori frowned. Under her bow ridden and sweet exterior, this one was _smart_. A worthy adversary, and she had already given up too much. She could feel the woman putting the pieces together in a mental flurry. "Oh." The woman sighed, shutting the book slowly. "I see now. Your village was what did this to Rasmus. You feel you're being held…because you are. That is something I will not become involved in, girl. That is strictly between you, Rasmus, and probably the Archons. Come with me. Bath. New clothes."

It was the first time ever that Mori had ever had a _hot_ bath, scented with oils, every little hair on her head and the flow of her backmane scrubbed, soaped, and carefully combed out. The woman remained almost stubbornly silent, but Mori could feel the words she didn't say. Things were harsh, and with Mori's insistence on growing straight upwards, at an amazingly fast pace, she was little but skin and bones, colored by an array of different shaded bruises. "My brother is a good man." Annlyn finally broke the silence. "If he believes he owes you, if you really did save him from…whatever that was, then you could certainly be in worse places. It looks as if you've already been in worse places."

"He's going to go after my village." Try as she might, she couldn't fight that realization off. She wasn't permitted to go back, because there wasn't going to be a place to go back _to_. Rasmus was going to hold her well away from the devastation that Regh's actions were going to bring down upon the village. And no matter how good Regh thought he was, he wasn't equal to a concerted effort from Pandaemonium. "He's going to kill my brother for what he did."

"Do you believe your brother was right to hurt Rasmus?"

"No. That's why I let him go." And cemented the fate of the only people she had ever known in the process. She could feel her chin start to shake, but the more she tried to fight off the tears the faster they came. "And I know, they'll just try it again if they're not stopped…" She wailed, and the woman gathered her up into her arms. She wasn't Regh's comforting presence, but she would have to do.

"Your brother is a Lepharist. Your whole village… Oh, hell. Here. Drink this." The woman released her and moved from the luxurious bathroom, returning with a delicate cut glass carafe. The garnet liquid within was warm, smooth, and chased away the sudden wellspring of horror in Mori's heart. "Time for bed. A real bed, not a blanket in front of the fire for you now that you're clean."

She was taken to a bedroom, with the promised real bed, an amazing work of dark woods and cozy white coverlet and pillows. It was easy to just let go and let oblivion take her back.

Unfortunately, oblivion only kept her for so long. And that night, not even the wondrous dreams came to smooth things over; Mori woke with a full grasp of things gone wrong. Why? Why had she betrayed Regh? Of all the people in existence who should have been able to count on her, it should have been him.

She sat up, already feeling another crying wave gathering. There was a purple dress hanging from the bed post next to her and she glared at it. It was, of course, pretty. Much finer than anything she had ever seen, except for the gown that Annlyn had worn the day before. This, however, was not meant for Annlyn, it was entirely too small. Mori glared at it, but a search of the room proved what she already suspected. Her jumper and pants were conspicuously missing, and she was forced to pull the dress on, or go out of the door naked. She considered it, for awhile, but shyness won out over obstinancy.

Annlyn stood in the hallway, dressed as nicely as before, a pair of shears in one hand and a bundle of blooms in the other. Mori suspected that they were merely a façade, a reason for her to be standing just outside of the doorway while she waited. "Ah, Moriah. Just in time for breakfast." She greeted with a smile and Mori stared back. It was a fine gesture, until her stomach ruined it by choosing that moment to let go of an entirely too audible growl. "You look very pretty today." Annlyn continued, obviously deciding to ignore the glare.

"I thought this wasn't your house."

Annlyn wrinkled her nose, placing the blooms down on the table. "Isn't. It's Rasmus's. I live with our parents on the other side of the city. He prefers here." She shrugged. "However, I am to watch over you until he comes home. That means breakfast." She led the way down a long hallway, and into a large dining room. The amount of food set on the table was more than enough to feed a family of twelve, but there were just two places set.

"So much?" Mori stuttered, and she laughed.

"You are nothing but skin and bones, child. You're bound and determined to be tall, and expend all that energy to get there. Speaking of, how old _are_ you? It's difficult to tell."

Mori shrugged, awkwardly sitting at the chair that Annlyn didn't take. It had always been hard to tell her age, because she'd always been well taller than the other children close to her age. "Eleven." She finally admitted. That always got a long pause, a measuring stare, and Annlyn's response was no different.

"I see."

"I know. There's something wrong with me…" Regh had steadfastly avoided even the slightest mention of it, but there had to be.

"Nonsense. You are what you are. Now eat."

Mori wished she was strong enough to turn away the food, but she wasn't. Others had always been strong enough, but that was her singular weakness. "How is your brother?" She finally asked, and Annlyn's pleasantly stern expression faltered slightly. It was bad. She didn't have to say anything, after that look, and Mori felt her chin tremble again.

"Don't cry, Moriah. He'll be fine. Really. It's just going to take longer than any of us are happy to wait. But my brother's strong. He always has been. He asks about you…."

Likely story. She was full, for the moment, and now lacked even the dubious refuge of hiding behind eating. This was all too awkward for words… "Done?" Annlyn asked, and effortlessly managed to make it not sound like a condemnation of Mori's voracious appetite.

"Yeeesss…"

"Good. Time for shopping."

Mori trailed Annlyn, down the shadowed steps and into the cul de sac outside of the front door. "We'll get into the good part of town soon, Moriah." She sighed, long suffering, and Mori gazed around in confusion. There didn't seem to be anything here that would mark this as a _bad_ part. It was spotless. The streets were cobbled. Great gray stone buildings rose from those streets. Graceful trees drooped lavender blossoms over her head. There were no loose animals, and the air rang with voices and was scented with delectable scents of foods. It was the most fantastic sight that she had ever seen, and this was _bad_?

If eating was Mori's singular weakness, it was obvious very quickly what Annlyn's was. Every single merchant in the city seemed to recognize her on sight, and was more than pleased to see her. She ignored most of them, however, leading the way through the city and into a shop. "Best girls' clothing in the city." She promised, and Mori's jaw dropped. So many colors, so much fabric, draped, rolled, leaning against the walls and stacked in the cubby shelves lining the walls.

"Annlyn! What _hav_e we here?" A small woman came out from behind the counter, her eyes locked not on the daeva she greeted, but squarely on Mori.

"This is my brother's ward." Mori was impressed. Annlyn didn't so much as pause, flicker, or think. She had that well planned in advance; it rolled off of her tongue like she'd said it a thousand times or more. "I'm caring for her while he is unwell…"

"I heard he was doing poorly. Injured?" Again, the woman was talking to Annlyn, but she stalked around Mori like a worg stalked a quoquo. "Ward, eh? Big girl, for all that she's what, ten?"

"Eleven."

"Eleven. Thin as a rail, Annlyn." The woman reached out and picked up the tail of Mori's braid, staring up into her eyes. "And not nearly done growing….up."

"I know. She's got to have at least another three hands in her before she's done."

Another three hands? They had to be insane! Mori already stood equal to Regh's height. And even the blessed daeva, Rasmus, only had a hand or so on her. She really couldn't get much bigger, could she? The tailor only made a slight hummmph noise, dropping the braid. "Well, she's a pretty one. Be prettier when you put some meat on her, at least your family has the kinah to pay for that. You brought her here for clothes?" The stare was unequivocal, that had better be the reason why Annlyn was here.

"Of course. Child came with only the clothes on her back, and I've burned those. I want her to look respectable, Maillie. Rasmus won't bother. The best, only the best."

"This isn't necessary…." Mori floundered over the words, and the woman stared at her through level, blue eyes. "I'm going home soon…" She doubted it, but it sounded right. She certainly wasn't going to keep quiet and just accept this without a word. Others might be so overawed to stand in the vicinity of a daeva that they would just accept it, but she was bred from sterner stock than that. Regh had taught her better.

"Home? The girl isn't an orphan, Annlyn?"

"I'm an orphan. My brother cares for me…" Or he had. By now, that was anyone's guess. "I want to go home. I…"

Annlyn had reached around and grasped Mori's forearm. She supposed it was meant to be threatening, but she felt no threat whatsoever, and glared down at the smaller daeva. "What? I saved your brother. Let me go. Is this his repayment for that? Holding me against my will…" Once the words got started, they seemed impossible to stop. Annlyn had gone pale, a flush rising on her cheeks and she puffed little hush hush sounds that were a meek attempt at silencing Mori.

"Moriah… This is not the place for this."

"Annlyn. Whatever is going on here? Surely you are not holding her against her will….?"

"Maillie." Annlyn sighed in disgust. "You know my brother. Would he do anything wrong like that? Really?"

The woman pursed her lips, staring between Mori and Annlyn in thought. "No. Rasmus would not. And this is his ward…?"

"Maillie. The child's people are Lepharists. They hurt Rasmus, she saved him. It's sad, but now she has no place else to go. Even if…" Her gaze turned to a steel glare, planted firmly on Mori. "The archons do not exact justice for their attack on my brother, Moriah, you made the choice to release Rasmus. What would your people do if you returned to them?"

_My brother loves me_. But even he could not protect her all of the time, from the village that was supposed to help him raise her.

"Moriah, this is not the time, not the place…." Annlyn gamely tried again, and the tailor chose then to retreat back behind the counter.

"Time for what?" Mori snarled mutinously, and Annlyn sighed, shaking her head.

"Damn you, Rasmus. Moriah. Sweetheart. You are eleven, a mere child, and stand almost as tall as my brother. A fully grown man. And you're not nearly _done_ yet. You'll be much taller. Your eyes, who has that color? The dreams, Moriah, the ones that make you talk in your sleep. The ones where you _fly_…"

"By Azphel's blessed shadow…" The tailor growled. "The Lepharists have borne a daeva amongst them…"

"That is insane…" Mori's voice trembled. That was foolishness. Stupidity. They couldn't mean what she thought they meant? Surely she wasn't what Regh tore his heart out wishing he was? She'd never asked for this. Never wanted it. "Not this cruel…" That would destroy everything she had….

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart. I'm not certain; Rasmus was always more gifted than I in these things… Maybe he just brought you because he was afraid of what your people would do to for freeing him. Either way, your place is with us. If you are a daeva, here is where you need to be. If you are not, then we will not permit you to be harmed for what you did for my brother, and here is where you need to be. Both put you under his…our…protection. If I'm right, and you are a nascent, then it's our honor to shelter you until you fledge. If I'm wrong, then we will discharge our debt to you by seeing you raised to adulthood in safety, teaching you a trade so you can make your own way. We will not dump you away, Moriah. Do not even _try_ to goad me into it." She pulled herself up to her full, tiptoed, height, took a deep, calming breath, let it go, and settled back onto her feet. "Now that we have settled that, clothes."

And what clothes. Mori had never contemplated the array that Annlyn ordered without a second thought. "You can read, I assume." Annlyn sighed, as the tailor packed away what few readymade pieces of clothing that she had that would fit Mori.

"I can, yes." Regh had been most adamant in that point. He, and Mori, needed to know how. Without that ability, the daeva had too much of an advantage over them. So much information, communication, passed them by without that knowledge. If they were to lead, they needed to have access to that knowledge. Otherwise they were just stupid mortals.

"Good." Annlyn delicately plucked up the bundles in her claws and strolled out into the lovely, shadowed day. "One thing that your tutor doesn't need to teach you…."

"Tutor….what?!?" Mori bounded after her, and received an imperious bundle of wrapped packages for her trouble.

"Tutor. Obviously you'll need schooling…."

Rasmus woke slowly. Everything hurt, but it was in a distant, healing way. He was also madly thirsty, and that was what finally forced him into consciousness. "Oh…shadows of Azphel…" he groaned, and was only slightly heartened by the malicious giggle next to him.

"Annlyn." There was something he needed to discuss with her, if only he could remember exactly what that was. He opened his eyes to the comforting gaze of his older sister, and beyond her, a sickroom in the temple. That was not so comforting, and he frowned. "Anya….?"

"Ah, yes, Ras. You've gone and done it this time."

Had he? Maybe that was what he needed to talk to her about… but for the life of him he could not remember what _it_ was. "Anya?" He didn't have to try to get the confused and more than a little weak quaver in his voice.

"Moriah."

Who? The memory hit him like a herd of charging rynoces and he sat bolt upright. "Oh, sweet Azphel…" He hissed in pain, feeling Annlyn's grasp on his shoulders. "Moriah. The little girl… How long…?"

"You've been down for a week and a half, dear, beloved brother of mine."

A week and a half that he had left that poor child in Annlyn's clutches. "Moriah?"

"Is doing juuuusst fine. Really, I knew she would when she called me a brat." She rested a blessedly cool hand against his brow, and used it to push him back into his waiting pillows. "I've clothed her. Fed her. And given her over to Jargen's gentle handling. She's quite lovely."

Lovely, yes. He just hadn't expected Annlyn, of all people, to notice it through all the dirt. "Rasmus…what happened?" She continued, and he closed his eyes under her hand. He had to say it some time. More than once. Only then could it fall behind him. "I had been following a Balaur scouting pair. Decided I could take them… it was either that or let them get away. I could take them…" He opened his eyes, stared at her. "But I couldn't take the Lepharists immediately afterwards. They had some sort of machine; it felt like it was tearing my soul apart. I've died before, Annlyn, this was more. This was worse. I was terrified…and then there was silence, and this small voice calling me daeva. It was Moriah. She'd drugged them all, had the key to my chains, and let me go. When I realized…."

"When you realized what she was." Annlyn pushed after a long pause, and he blinked.

"You know?" He sputtered, and she released the malevolent chuckle again.

"Know? Rasmus! The child is sixteen hands tall _now_, at eleven! She has golden eyes. She speaks to Aion in her dreams! The only thing she hasn't done is show wings and fly away! It's not as if she is hiding it well at all."

All the more reason to have taken her, if Annlyn could see it. He swallowed down the lump of bile in his throat, and sighed. "Annlyn, I had no choice. I thought when I first saw her that she was. Then she healed me, and I knew…I knew she didn't belong there with them."

She sat on the bed next to him, resting his forehead against her shoulder. "Ras. If they hurt you, then they'd hurt her. It's that simple. She's lovely. She's blessed. And we're not going to let them tear that apart, even if she is their blood. That only makes it worse. And they tried to tear my blood apart. And that…is not acceptable. Do what must be done; we'll pick up the pieces later."

"She's fine?" Well, as fine as she could be. He had few delusions that she was happy with things the way they were. If she had a soul like he believed, then she wouldn't be bought off with a few material comforts.

"Eats like a porgus. Has probably grown two inches since we got her. Jargen says she's smart and learns quickly. Cleans up pretty, dresses up even prettier. She seems like a worthy enough cause. Can't exactly send that back, now can we?"

"No, but…" It was one thing to ask her to watch the girl for a fortnight, another thing altogether to ask Annlyn to help him raise her. And who was he fooling? He was barely old enough to be on his own, what was he thinking to raise a child? "What have you told mother? Father?"

She wrinkled her nose in petulant thought. "The truth. You have a ward. You wanted me to watch her until you are well. You made certain I knew she was to be raised in Crandale, without them. Spun it to make them think you're off on one those prove you're an adult adventures. Swore the child would come to no harm from it." She shrugged. "They were good enough to raise us…. Why not the child?"

The truth was nowhere he wanted to go, Certainly they had raised him, and he liked to think he was a fine endeavor. But Annlyn… no. The thought of another one of those in creation, the thought that Moriah, with that soul, wasted on that level turned his stomach. He loved Annlyn with all of his heart, but one of her was enough.

"She's mine." That, he knew to the depths of his soul. Annlyn's answering stare was disturbing and he growled. "Annlyn. My duty, my responsibility, my honor. I knew at the first moment I saw her that…" He didn't have an answer. What had he felt? That she was given to him, but as a link in the chain that made him who and what he was, not as a prize or a toy. A lesson, insight, something beyond the insinuation in Annlyn's eyes. "I can't explain it."

"You better try, Rasmus." She hissed, taking his hand. "I need something to go on. The talk is starting, and none of it is good. So far, the fact you've been decent and upstanding your entire life is holding it off, but I don't want an investigation…."

"There will be no further investigation, Annlyn." The voice was a balm to Rasmus's crumpled soul, before the meaning of the words even sunk in. The high priest's calm was infectuous, Balder would make things right as usual, hold off the questions he didn't have answers to. "The child, Moriah, is a nascent daeva. Born to a family and people that will persecute her for it. She is a gift to us, a born healer, one of my own… too precious to be tortured to death by a fool child chasing a dream he'll never catch. She saved your brother, your brother saves her, it is a circle true. I will not interrupt its flow. That is the finding of _our_ investigation. Keep her, hold her, and she will do you proud. Now, as for you, Rasmus. You have awakened. How do you feel?"

"I feel terrible." That was the half of it. He didn't have adequate words to describe it. He felt like he'd always imagined mortal to feel, with a good dose of a nasty illness to top it off. "They didn't…succeed…did they?" He swallowed back terror. "They wanted to steal…."

"The divinity from your soul, Rasmus. And no, they did not succeed. They bruised it. They battered it. But you still have it, and you will recover….in time. Now your calling is to raise the gift that you have been given. We will release you tonight."

Annlyn was in a flurry and Mori trailed her in confusion. Everything had to be just so, although Mori was well aware that there really wasn't a just so in this house. It was difficult to put everything in its place when most things didn't have a place. "Damn bachelor fool." Annlyn hissed and Mori eyed her warily.

"This is _his_ house. Things should stay as _he_ wants them." Their hut had been Regh's. No doubting there. Now, of course, Regh did not have the mountains of possessions that Rasmus did, but those were obviously left where Rasmus wanted them to be. So he was sloppy, he was allowed to be…

"Bah. Mother would have kittens if she saw this mess…." Mori shrugged at that comment. She barely remembered her mother, and Annlyn held the elder sibling position that Regh did.

"Why have you no husband?" By now, Annlyn should have married. Moved in with her husband, had a handful of babes, and had more pressing worries than the state of her brother's library. Mori expected the same consternation and anger she would get if she asked that question of a mature woman at home, but Annlyn only laughed in answer.

"Why have I no husband? Because, Moriah, I haven't found one good enough yet. And I have all the time in the world to look. However, we do not have all the time in the world to make Rasmus's rooms habitable…he will home this night."

That was not something that Mori was looking forward to at all. He'd been deathly ill for almost two weeks, and she didn't want to assume he was willing to forgive the actions that had made him so. "You really think I'm a daeva?" She asked slowly. If she was, then she could swallow the argument that Rasmus meant her no harm.

Annlyn paused in her singleminded shifting of a great pile of books. "Moriah. Do you really think you're mortal?"

_No_. They were correct. There were too many obvious things that just didn't fit. Her size. Her eyes. Her dreams. Her ability to heal. How, then, had Regh missed the obvious? Or had he really? Love blinded? In denial? Or something worse?

And now, what was she? Homeless, now truly orphaned, living off of charity. She picked at the edge of her sleeve morosely. An outsider, as always, and now she was looking at eternity instead of just a lifetime.

"Rasmus will not want a long face like that, Moriah." Annlyn stated, and Mori frowned. Hearing that name was less and less unfamiliar. Was she so easily turned by nice clothing, a warm home, and all the food she could eat? A fancy tutor willing to indulge all of her questions, and when she ran out of her own, gave her his to fill the gap? Was she just a spoiled little brat waiting to happen?

"I want…" She began and Annlyn held up a hand.

"The only thing we're not going to give you, Moriah." She sighed, shaking her lovely head. "You've made that transparently clear. Everything we do or try to do is valueless to you. You want to go home to your brother, live in squalor, barely eat enough to keep yourself alive, and face whatever happens when your brother and his group can no longer deny the obvious. I say no. Rasmus says no. Balder says no. Aion says no!"

Mori sank to the floor, covering her eyes with her hands to staunch the tears. After such a start, Annlyn was probably just getting her wind back, but no, she remained silent. Silent enough for Mori to hear the snick of the door catching behind her. The halting progress of a large body, occasionally supported by the tap of a cane. "I say no to what?" Rasmus demanded.

"She wants to go back." Annlyn muttered rebelliously.

"To her brother?" He came up right behind her, to the point she could see his claws digging into the rug on either side of her.

"Yes."

"Moriah…." He knelt, although she could feel it was painful for him to do so, and she stood, spinning to face him. A myraid of expressions flowed across his face, pain…physical and empathetic, and startlement when he got a first good look at her.

"I know!" She spat. "There is no village left! You told the archons in Alsig, and they went there days ago!" That should hurt more than it did, and that lack of pain paradoxically raised its own pain. She was shallow. Empty. A traitor, and it didn't even really bother her. Only Regh haunted her, the rest of them deserved every moment that they got….

"Yes."

"So I have no home! I have no brother! I have nothing!" Such melodrama. Regh would be disgusted…

"You have a home, here. And, according to the reports I received, your brother was not amongst those captured, so I am assuming he escaped. You have what you have always had, Moriah. Yourself, your soul, your heart. It has always been the most precious gift you have ever had. Stand with it, use it, against the real danger…the Balaur." She heard Annlyn's indrawn breath, but Rasmus ignored his sister's response. "Forget the petty squabbles…who has what. You have what you were gifted with, and that is to stand in the breach. Rise above what your brother tried to teach you, he's blinded by envy…"

"Rasmus! No…"

"Rasmus, no." He sighed, on the edge of mockery. "What, Annlyn. Don't tell her she made to stand in the darkness, because when you looked there, you blinked? You turned away? A great, blessed gift, who shops her days away, worries about how many plates a single person needs on a table and arranges pretty flowers?"

"Yet I am the one you gave Moriah to when you were not capable of being there. Is it so wrong to care for those who do stand in those shadows, Ras? Not as a healer on the field of battle, but as the one who keeps the houses running while you fight? Who tends to everything when you come limping back, mauled, with a bitterly unhappy nascent dragging on your mane?

Mori could feel his exhaustion…couldn't Annlyn _see_ it? She took a step closer, delving into that part of herself that she only touched in the dreams. He paused, wavering on his feet, then smiled at her. "Thank you, little one. Although I feel my sister is right, you've grown since you've gotten here. Almost as tall as I am."

"Bed." She commanded, and he raised a brow at her, his green eyes measuring. "Yes, dear priest, yes." He agreed after a momentary pause. "I will rest. And argue with my sister, when I am better able to." She trailed after him as he limped into the hallway, stopping at a door she had never opened before. "Mori." He sighed, "Things will be better. I promise. Both you and I need to heal our wounds…together. I found that when I dreamed."


	3. Chapter 3

Coming from a house where everything in it could be seen by standing in a corner, the fact that Rasmus's home was large enough to warrant exploration was a source of amusement for Mori. She found the steps leading up and followed them, emerging onto the roof terrace. It was a beautiful night, and she went down to bring up a bed roll to snuggle in as she stared upwards. The shattered Tower of Eternity rose, and above her, Elysia… a beautiful spider's web of lights.

She heard the slow, deliberate footsteps, heavier, the claw drag more pronounced than the delicate Annlyn's stride. "Rasmus." She greeted, turning her head. He looked a little better; the strain of his injuries had faded somewhat from his features. He was really quite handsome, his face lit by the lantern he carried, and she was happy that it was dark and he couldn't see her face well.

"Been looking for you, little one." He chuckled, taking a slow seat in the closest chair to her, and placing the lantern on the roof beside him. "Sky watching?"

"Yes."

He leaned back in the chair, his own gaze climbing up. "Elysia." He finally noted. "Jargen has been teaching you about them, I presume."

"What he tells me confuses me." She finally admitted, and he dragged his stare from the sky.

"Oh?" He prodded when she remained silent. "Maybe I can help…"

"He tells me that they are much like we are. That they birth the blessed, daevas like we have. Aion's children as we are, but on the next hand, he tells me that they are weak and pathetic…"

His laugh was a blessing, deep and joyous. "The Elyos are many things, Moriah. Clawless. Bald. Ugly. But you are correct, they are in Aion's gaze, and they have daevas. And if you underestimate one of those clawless, bald daevas, they will be more than happy to send you home to your obelisk in disgrace."

"Bald? Ugly?" At least his story made more sense than her tutor's did.

"Personally I have a fondness for a woman with a lovely fall of back mane, long and silver. To see a woman without one is…brrrrrh." He made a vague sound of disgust. "The Elyos carry weapons, but when those fail them, they are without. We…you…and I, _are_ weapons, Moriah. When everything else fails, Aion gave us claws to fight our way out of our corner. But you are correct to look sideways at what a tutor tells you, the Elyos are annoying. They can be a true struggle. But they are not the reason why we bear wings and take to the Abyss, Moriah. Do not lose sight of the true fight."

"My tail isn't silver." She sighed, and he shifted. Moriah's back mane was black, the same as the hair on her head. It was an oddity, to still have the coloration of a toddler just growing one in, at her age.

"No." He agreed, a slight bubble of confusion rising in his voice. "It is as black as the wings you will grow, little one. But you are still very young yet…. But you have a good, thick, long fall of it. Still a tail to be proud of."

"Nice try." She chuckled, hugging her knees and staring up. "You've been there?"

"Yes."

"And is it truly what Jargen says it is?"

He reached out a hand towards it, gazing up through his fingers. "It is a warm and beautiful place, Moriah. Very bright, enough to hurt your eyes. But it's not home. It's not Asmodae. It's not…" He shrugged. "Right, little one." He dropped the hand to rest it over his heart. "I fight for Asmodae, for my family. For you."

"Hmmmph."

"Hmmmph yourself." He replied. "It's been awhile since I've been up here. I forgot just what it was like. Used to have a brazier up here, would cook kebabs and watch the city and the sky. Sleep out when the nights were mild…"

"Why don't you?"

"I can have the brazier brought back up, if we're going to be using this again. But no, little one, the nights are not mild enough now. You'll be sleeping in your own bed tonight, thank you very much."

Mori sighed. With the heavy bed roll, she'd be much warmer than she would have been at home. But Annlyn and now Erasmus seemed insistent that they were going to take much better care of her than Regh could manage. Food. Clean, nice, warm clothing. A warm home. A tutor. "You're weak." She snorted, and he laughed back.

"Perhaps, little one. But you have a bed, a warm room. No reason to stay away from it. Life gets hard enough as it is, you'll be spending more than enough time freezing your tail off."

She almost considered arguing, but he was right. The breeze was sharpening, chilling, and a nice bath and bed sounded much better than sleeping outside. She yawned, and he picked up the lantern. "Bed time, little one." He chuckled, standing and holding a hand out to her.

"Too slow, Moriah!" Rasmus hissed, swinging again. Moriah had grown, up, and still, at fifteen was as awkward as could be. She was taller than he was, all bones and angles, and completely and totally graceless. Teaching her any sort of combat skills was beyond him, but he still tried. At least she was a natural at her studies; a natural at the course that Aion had chosen to put her on. She'd just have to grasp the rest in due time. "Enough." He growled, and she stepped warily back, her expression half exasperated and half saddened. "Enough, little one." He tried again, his voice softer. "It's not fair…"

"Not fair to try and teach the freak…?" She spat, dropping the quarterstaff in disgust.

"You are not a freak, Moriah." He said, watching her through resigned eyes. No, hardly a freak, just caught in the most terrible of times. "Many daeva are greatly tall. It takes some growing into, and you're still young." He'd repeated it so many times that he understood exactly why she didn't take it seriously anymore. It got worse with time, not better. Thank the Shedim Lords that he had found her before she started this last growth spurt. Thank the Shedim Lords that he had pockets deep enough to feed and clothe her appropriately… The past four years had been a joy he did not see coming. Certainly he had understood that he was being called to raise a nascent, a child struggling her way towards her inner divinity. He had grasped that was a duty, an honor, a responsibility, one that he was oddly young for. He did not understand the joy that the child would bring into his empty household with her. "You should go get ready."

Her expression turned inwards, sullen, and he set his gut to face the argument again. "Now, Moriah." He stated, stilling his expression. This was not negotiable. She would go.

"Rasmus, please, I've told you a thousand times or more…."

He clenched his jaw, checked his weapons, and remained resolute. She was going, end of discussion, if he had to drag her the entire way by her coal black mane.

"Is it because Jargen is so expensive? I've learned so much, I don't need a tutor, really, Rasmus…"

He snorted. He'd spared no expense with Moriah, and Annlyn's expenditures on her behalf put his to shame. It made no sense to spare kinah on a soul that was going to be theirs forever. "Moriah. This has nothing at all to do with money. And everything to do with your future. The call has been put out, and Balder put forth your name. This is not my doing…" But the high priest himself had called for Moriah to test to enter the Academy. Only the best nascent youth were brought in to be taught there. He had been, and had not dared to consider Moriah ready for it. Balder hoped otherwise, obviously. "But it would be good for you to have friends close to your age." Her brother had held her distant from the young in her village, keeping her with adults, pruning her for a job she would never fulfill. "Moriah, I went there. Our best and brightest go…it's an honor to even be called to be tested."

"I'm afraid, Rasmus." She whispered, and he bowed his head. He'd known that from every little tantrum she'd thrown, and that fear only steeled his heart. He'd sheltered her too much here, him, his sister, and a single tutor. No, enough of that. She needed to get out there and start to live.

"I know, little one." Ah, yes, the little one who now stood a hand and a half taller than he did. "You still go. Now get cleaned up."

She sighed, gustily, and slouched off, taking as much time as possible to cross the terrace. "Rasmus, the mean papa." Annlyn ribbed gently, and he growled, staring at her as she came out around Moriah.

"I don't need to hear it from you." He shed his armor, hanging it to dry on its stand.

"Hear what? I think you're doing a fine job. Better than I thought you would."

"You spoil her."

Annlyn paused, considering, then nodded. "I do." She admitted easily, and he stared at her in abject betrayal. "Ras. If I don't, then she'll never be, ever. Her brother raised her hand to mouth, in a hovel, wearing rags…filling her head with garbage of leading the Revolution beside him. You raise her to stand in the breach behind you, a daeva, burdened to protect reality from the Balaur. Balder will take her into the Academy and craft a great priest out of her. That's pretty grim, Ras. The child deserves some joy, some simple overindulgence, and none of you are going to give it to her. Obviously the task falls to me. She's in a terrible stage right now, and she doesn't see the end of it. It's your job to be firm with her. It's not mine. You were spoiled just rotten, and what harm did it do to you?"

"I'm afraid of not taking care of her like I'm supposed to. She's a gift, so damned valuable, and that responsibility scares me." And he had been so thankful when it sounded like Balder was willing to start shouldering some of that responsibility by testing her.

"I know that, Ras. And I'm certainly not suggesting you haven't done your best. Like I said, I think you're doing a fine job. And you're right; she needs to meet others like her, to begin to realize that she isn't so much a freak."

So many young people, Mori didn't know what to make of them. She didn't want to be here. These were probably all fine young daevas to be, while she was just an overgrown and awkward charity case. She was taken away from the tense group of others, brought to the High Priest's rooms, and given sweet tea and snacks. The man felt a lot like Rasmus did, only older, calmer, wiser. He had a tranquility around him, a peace that she yearned for. There were no other of the youth here, only her and the quiet High Priest.

"My lord?" She finally asked when the silence grew much too long.

"Moriah. You grow well under Rasmus's tutelage. That which he first noticed in you has continued to grow along with your body. Do the dreams continue?"

"They have become stronger. They come more often. They are clearer. I feel like I'm falling when I wake up."

"Ah." He didn't sound the least bit surprised. "And your private schooling has gone well, according to my reports."

Reports? She finally raised her eyes to stare at him, and he only smiled. "Rasmus maintained that he felt called to be your guardian. Aion seemed to back that claim up. But we did not just release you to his custody and let it be, Moriah. You are too precious, and Rasmus, while his heart is in the right place, is still very young. We watched to be certain he made the correct decisions in regard to your care, and until recently, his choices have been beyond reproach."

"What happened recently?" She did her best to keep her gaze off of the plate of absolutely marvelous treats sitting next to him, the polite single one she had taken when they had been offered to her had just been a tease.

"You've outgrown the way he's been raising you. It was right earlier, to hold you tight and safe, to accustom you to be a member of his family and household. You needed that sort of protection, of distance, to recover and grow to trust him. Now you need to breathe, move away, and learn to be Aion's priest, as you were born imbued to be. Rasmus cannot lead you on a path closed to him, Moriah. He has taught you how to be loved, cared for, a fine young Asmodean woman. He can't walk with you to your destiny. Here…." He passed the entire plate over to her reach and she blushed. "Eat them, child. That's why they are here."

"Where is this challenge that I've heard of? Ras said…"

"Many of those out there will be challenged, Moriah. You have already been, years ago. I already know you. I already know what you are called to be, I don't need to shake it out of your soul. It shone from you the moment you brought healing and comfort to Rasmus. You made a truly painful call the day you rose to his defense, Moriah. You understood that. You did it anyway. You released one of Aion's children, did your duty as one of the blessed, by healing him. He would have never made it had your gifts not expressed themselves. Your challenge is long past, it came and went, and you rose to it. This is just a formality, young one."

"So I come here?"

"Yes, Moriah. You come here, to learn what you can until you ascend. Then you will be trained as a priest."

"Well?" Rasmus was doing his best to sound calm, confident and assured. He failed, and Mori wrinkled her nose at him.

"I start next week."

He grinned, managing to look as young as the High Priest accused him of being. "Congratulations, Moriah. You'll see, this is for the best." He clapped her on the shoulder, leading her away. "Let's go tell Annlyn. She's going to be beside herself." He gleamed with pride, and she eyed him.

"Ras, do you love me?" It was a bitter question, Regh had claimed it often, but lately she doubted it. Just what would he have done when this had become as obvious as it was now? Would she have survived this long? Or would she have been kept until her ascension occurred, kept until that part of her was ripe for the picking, as they'd tried to pick it from this man standing with her? This man, one of the most honorable, decent souls she'd ever had the joy to meet, who'd been out there trying to protect _them _from the Balaur?

"What a question, pet." His laugh was quickly forced, but his stare was naked and measuring. "I'd love you even if the High Priest had turned you away. This has nothing to do with that. I'd love you even if we're all wrong, and you're not blessed. It would be one of the most difficult things I'd ever have to face, Moriah, but I would. Losing you would…" He grimaced, shaking his head. "Why do you ask this from me? Surely that was not why you feared coming here?"

"I don't deserve you. I've never told you that."

He sighed, chuckled, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pushed her gently into stride. "Enough of this, Moriah."

"No!" she snapped, throwing the arm off and stepping away from him. He silenced, the smile fading as he regarded her. "Why don't you hold this against me? My brother hurt you, and I wasn't able to heal you. You still limp, even after all this time. I should have…"

"Been better than a dozen of the best trained clerics in Pandaemonium? Faster to release me? What, Moriah?"

All those and more, how could he hold her to the heights he did so effortlessly, how could he forgive so easily and fully? "Moriah. I dreaded the day you would understand this completely. But understand _this_… I do not blame you. You are no less a gift because I found you in darkness, just the opposite. You were the light that led me out of the worst place I've ever found myself in. You're right, they would have hurt you. Which means they didn't love you. But I do love you. And enough of this, Moriah. Today is a lovely, joyous day. I won't see it dragged down by this. You are where you belong. You are ours. We hold you high…well…not that you need to go much higher than you already are."

She glared at him, only half teasingly, and he shook his head. "One of these days, Moriah, you will grow into this. I promise."

It was a beautiful day, and Moriah slowed to savor it. Freed from class well in time to enjoy the walk from school to home, she moved along at a speed much slower than her normal ground eating stride. Her book bag hung over a shoulder, heavy from the weight of several tomes, and she shifted it to settle them more comfortably. She was eighteen, at her full height, and had left her awkward youth behind her. The dreams came without abatement, she was well aware that Rasmus and Annlyn now only played the waiting game. Even Balder and her teachers had fallen into the same, just killing time until she ascended. She herself felt that way most of the time. She was an adult. Mature. Why were they still waiting? Rasmus was patient. Balder was patient. Even Annlyn was patient, tranquil under her flighty exterior. It seemed like Moriah was the only impatient one. And on this beautiful day, the restless underpinning of her life moved more.

She passed through the gates into her home district, comfortable when the streets closed, tightening from the wide expanse of the main squares. Crandale was a maze of tight ways, small inns, dark alleyways, but she had known them for so long that their constraints felt safe. She'd have the house to herself, probably… Annlyn spent most mornings at her home, and Rasmus had returned to training.

"Afternoon, pretty." She didn't recognize the man, or the shugo standing beside him, and she gave him a perturbed look in response. While she didn't believe that Pandaemonium should be kept from those not destined to rise, there was no reason for this one to be here. No reason for him to speak to her. She glanced around…if she was in another district, or in the main district she had just passed from; there would be a guard in sight. But there were none. Nor were there any daeva in sight… Sudden worry coiled in her gut. Certainly, Rasmus had done his best to teach her how to fight, but there had been no hint that she would need it here. In Pandaemonium.

"I don't know you." That, she was certain of. She'd never run across this one before in his life, and she was also certain she'd never met the oddly silent shugo next to him either.

"No, you don't, Mori. But I know your brother…"

She took a deep breath, either to fight, run or yell, but got none of them out. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed into the man's arms as darkness rushed up to grab her. The last thing she heard was his "oooph" as he tried to support her not insignificant weight.

"We did get the right one? This is Mori?" Moriah heard the doubt in the stranger's voice as she regained consciousness. She was tied, blindfolded, and resting on dirt. She could smell it. She could also smell a cooking pit; hear quoquo, and the sounds of other stock. This was _not_ Pandaemonium…

"That is Mori, yes." Regh's voice was harsh, older, but she'd recognize it anywhere. "Older, but that is my sister."

"This is insanity, Regh. That may be your sister, taken by the daeva, but any blind man can see why… She wasn't taken as a plaything. She's a daeva, herself….or will be. How do you intend to keep them from finding her?

"Go away. Run, and they may not find _you_."

"They'll find _her_, which means they'll find _you_. Regh, this is stupidity. I can put the girl back; they'll never have noticed she went missing… And even if they do, they'll never know who was responsible for it."

"Mori is my sister." He sounded ponderous, immobile, and she cursed internally. He'd never been the most flexible of sorts, which meant that this was destined to go badly. Unfortunately, it seemed destined to go badly with her involved in it.

"She's a daeva."

He placed a hand on her head, "All the better."

Rasmus frowned, glancing at the window. It was growing dark, and there was a threat of bad weather in the wind, but still no Moriah. This wasn't usual… certainly Moriah had gained some friends in the years she'd been in the Academy, but she was always so careful to let him know if she was going to be somewhere.

"Girl's just being social, finally." Annlyn chuckled, and he considered her words. No, if she were Annlyn, he'd agree with that. But she wasn't. And this was wrong. Moriah should be home, and she wasn't. He surged to his feet, ignoring his sister's indulgent stare as he yanked his coat on and emerged into the chilling air. She had left early this morning, same as usual, headed for school. He was not such a fool to think that a child sent to school always _went_ to school, so he ducked his head against the wind and made his way to the Academy. While classes would be released, it would still be open. Moriah was lucky enough to live close enough to live at home and attend, so many others weren't. They lived here, on the grounds.

"Rasmus… troubles?" He shouldn't be surprised, so much of Balder's duties encompassed training the young, and there were more than the usual number of young priests to be, like Moriah, in this crop…there were plenty of reasons for the High Priest to be here, instead of in the Temple.

"I'm looking for Moriah. She hasn't come home, and it's not like her to not at least send a note."

Balder did not give him the same indulgent "Rasmus is being a worried papa, isn't it sweet?" look that Annlyn had. His answering stare was concerned, wary. "We let out the clerical classes early today, Rasmus. Moriah left at around noon, alone, headed in Crandale's direction. Nothing made me think she wasn't going home…"

"Thank you." So Moriah had indeed made it to school. And noon had been a long time ago. Where in the hell was she? He retraced the steps she would have taken, back towards home, slowly. Even as carefully as he was moving, as carefully as he scrutinized his path, he almost missed it. A small flash caught his eye, tossed up against the wall, and he ducked to pick it up.

Like every other Academy student, Moriah wore a uniform to school. So like every other girl, she wore jewelry, things in her hair, something to be unique. He knew this item, he'd given it to her himself when her first set of scores had come in from the Academy and he'd been beside himself with pride. She would have never _lost_ this…

He closed his hand around the silver granker hair clasp, ignoring the fact that its horns and hooves dug into his skin. Everything felt wrong about this. It was time to panic…

And apparently Balder agreed, because the High Priest had come up behind him, silently, three other men with him. They breathed silence, darkness, danger, and Rasmus nodded at the three assassins chosen by the Temple, offering the hair clasp to the closest of them. "We'll find her." The man promised, and Rasmus nodded.

"I know you're awake, Mori. Or should I call you…._Moriah_?" Regh moved closer, pulled the blindfold off, and she blinked. She'd been expecting him to be smaller, she'd grown so much, but he was still a big man. The years had not been kind to him, he wore an eye patch. He looked tired. Old. Ill. Dead? "The name our parents gave you not enough? Needed bigger, better, prettier?"

_Aion's dreams give my name as Moriah. It is right. _But Moriah knew better than to give that argument. Things already looked badly, no need to prod them along. "Regh?"

"You let him go, Mori." His hands were on her shoulders, gentle.

"You were killing him, destroying him…"

"So you let him go, and in doing so, destroyed most of us. Was he worth having the archons descend, Mori? Having them sweep through us?"

_Yes. _Rasmus was worth that, and more. They had opened themselves up to that retaliation when they dared to put hands on him, one of Aion's blessed, with the intention of harming him.

"Regh, he's going to come after me." Him, and more. This was going to make a retaliation raid from a handful of archons look like child's play.

"I'm counting on that, Mori. They won't be allowed to keep you. You're mine. Always have been. Always will be. My flesh. My blood. When I looked upon you and realized you were blessed, I knew joy. Together, we were going to lead our people against those monsters… and then you betrayed me. You betrayed every person out there…" His grip on her shoulders, which had been gentle, turned harsh and she bit back a cry. "But it's fine, Mori. We got you back in time. You haven't risen, and all is not lost."

"Regh…?"

He grabbed her arm and dragged her out into the light. There had been noise, voices, but they silenced when he appeared with her. She scrambled, throwing her weight against him, but he was bitterly strong. "You need to pay, Mori." He hissed, "Bleed to wash away your crimes, before they can accept you again…"

Pain. So much pain. Everything hurt and all Moriah wanted to do was curl up and cry. Have Rasmus gather her up into his arms and soothe it all away. This man was no kin of hers. He was no one who deserved her love, her loyalty. This was a monster.

"Even now, when you need it most, Aion will not give you the blessing he taunts you with, Mori."

_If I ascend now, I am doomed. _

Regh laughed, almost as if she had said it aloud. "Hang on it, Mori. You'll have plenty of time to think, and to beg Aion for his intervention. When you hear nothing, you'll understand. Because there will be nothing."

And there was nothing, for hours. Pain numbed into worse, and tears poured silently down Moriah's cheeks in the silent darkness. It was beyond cold, her school uniform had never been expected to keep her warm through this sort of weather. When it got cold, she had a lovely coat…currently hanging uselessly in the foyer. And her claws dangled teasingly a couple of inches over solid ground. The chains binding her wrapped around her wrists, down around her elbows. There had been hot blood from them earlier, but now, nothing was hot. Nothing was warm. She was going to die out here like this, but that was better than to ascend hooked up to this damnable machine, the same that had ripped into Rasmus's soul. What would it do to a soul flush from ascension, newly born and very fragile?

"I love you, Rasmus." She breathed into the wind.

"Love you too, pet."

Great. She was losing her sanity. But at least losing it brought his voice to chase away the misery. And it did…for a split second, until he grasped her around her hips and hiked up her weight. Screaming, bitter agony ripped through her, and then there was another sudden darkness grabbing at her.

She woke to abject pain, her head pillowed in a lap. Rasmus was asleep, leaned up against a rock, his armored thigh serving as her headrest, cushioned by a wadded up cloak. She was heavily wrapped in blankets, and a small fire warmed the cave…she was amused to realize it was the same cave he had sought shelter in years earlier.

"Good morning, Moriah." His eyes had not opened, and she realized he had probably not been asleep, only resting. His voice was very calm, very level, dead as she'd never heard it before.

"Ow."

"I know. You have quite a few things broken. You almost died." Still, his voice did not waver. It was almost as if he was recounting the weather, or an old party he'd been to. "I'm going to kill him, Moriah."

She knew that already. Regh had finally doomed himself to the point where he could no longer be ignored. Rasmus was willing to carry on after what had been done to him, but no longer. "You are still unascended. You can still die, and there's no coming home from that."

Words she could have done without hearing, but he wasn't speaking them to her. They were to him, to push his outrage higher and brighter. "You will do what you must." She soothed, and he rested an open hand on her forehead. He was warm. He'd never failed to care for her. The thought brought the first tears, and once they started, there was no stopping them. He gathered her up in his arms, just as she had prayed for, his presence a bulwark and touchstone of safety.

"So, now that we've gotten the girl back, we go clean that nest out?" The tallest of the assassins asked, and Rasmus nodded slowly. Absolutely. He was not going to back down from this… he was as fit as he was going to get. They'd harmed Moriah. They'd damned near taken her from him, permanently. And for that, they would die. On this day. He looked over at her; her gaze was level and accepting, no doubts in their golden depths. She blessed this.

She stood awkwardly, painfully, and he gritted his teeth to watch her struggle. But she made it, moving to stand before him, resting her elbows on his shoulders. "Just make it fast, Rasmus. Put him down." She breathed, and he nodded.

"As you ask, my ward." He agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She stepped back, and he hefted his sword. "Stay here. You're in no shape to help." And, as accepting as she seemed to be of the inevitable now, there was a world of difference between comprehension and witnessing.

They were waiting, Rasmus had been well aware that they had destroyed any surprise they had when they had seen Moriah safely away before their return. And yes, Moriah's brother stood there… at one time he had resembled her greatly, now he just felt tainted. Destroyed, so far from her that only knowledge marked him as the man that Rasmus sought.

"So you did come for Mori. And quickly." The man chuckled, unlimbering a wickedly spiked polearm. "I'm almost surprised. But then, it's obvious she will rise soon. Is she any good?"

"Good?" Rasmus echoed in spite of himself. He'd told himself that he was not going to get involved in a war of rhetoric with a zealot.

"Good. For what you took her for? As a woman? In your bed?"

In spite of everything, Rasmus felt a flush start to crawl. "I wouldn't know." He responded. "That wasn't what I took her for. I saw what she was to become. Blessed of Aion. I would not see that destroyed by the likes of you."

"Oh, my. You really haven't. I am impressed, and amazed. You might actually be a decent sort… unfortunately."

He stretched out his arms to the sky, and Rasmus took a half step backwards when he grew wings. They weren't the wings that Rasmus sprouted when called upon, his were graceful, black and stippled with blood colored bars, hooked and sweeping. These were rotting, patchy, bare pale skin showing through in spots, deformed. Grotesque, a parody. This needed to be destroyed. The soul he had stolen was slowly killing him, twisting him outwardly into the monster he was inwardly. Except Rasmus didn't have enough time to let Aion's slow vengeance take its course. This needed to die now, before it harmed anyone else in its insanity.

The assassins with him vanished, and he knew exactly where they were going. He was going to be allowed to face this, but they would keep the rest of the village occupied. He called his own wings, crowned with their glory, and launched himself in the air.

Regh might look like a parody, feel like an abomination, but he hit like a great Balaur warrior. Darkness and hatred gave him strength, and Rasmus was rocked back on his heels, maintaining his stance by sinking his claws deeply into the ground. Another hit brought blood, his, and he realized he might be in over his head. Judging by the noise erupting behind him, he was not the only one…

_Darkness has rooted in them all. They are abominations. _Told to remain behind, but prodded on by Aion's will, Moriah stood on the rise beyond the hidden village. She could see Rasmus. See the wakes and flurries of the assassins' paths through the village. _They must be destroyed. Cleansed. Purged from this existence…_

She could feel Rasmus's pain, injury, with greater clarity than she ever had before. In fact, everything came so clearly, second nature, like breathing. She extended her hand towards Rasmus, and watched the bloody paths of the chains fade away from her forearms. The pain was fading. Everything was so charged, real, immediate. She had been living in a dream before, and now was awake. She could feel Rasmus, his great heart beating. Feel the assassins wending their way through their death paths. Feel the wind. The ground beneath her claws.

"Be blessed, Rasmus, child of Aion." She murmured, and felt it catch. "Be healed."

Rasmus felt the first blessing of a cleric bathe his soul, and he looked around in confusion, dancing back from the monstrosity growing before him. Every second, and Regh looked less and less human, more and more animalistic, a beast, but they had reinforcements?

No. Moriah stood high on the rise above him. Her wings, dense and shadowed, arced above her head, her eyes glowed, and her open hands were pointed unerringly in his direction. She had called the blessings down. She had healed him. She had _ascended_, so freshly that the puff of feathers from it still danced in the breeze around her.

"_No!_" Her brother screamed dissent, and her answering stare was weighty with distain, sympathy, and resignation.

_Kill him quickly. Put him down. _The request of a sister for a once beloved brother. He flipped his grip on the hilt of his sword and powered his weight into the attack. "As you ask, my ward." Fortified with the blessings of one of Aion's priests, untouchable under the focus of a great healer, he could be invincible. He could take this down… He stepped into his dance, bearing the blade that his father had gifted him upon his ascension, the same blade that his grandfather had borne into battle. Regh hissed, but Rasmus felt no fear. He was in Aion's hands now…

He twisted beneath the great polearm… he was a warrior. He had been trained with the knowledge that was what he was destined to be since childhood. He had been tempered in the depths of the Abyss, against the Elyos and the Balaur. Regh was just an abomination, a freak, untrained. Massively large, tainted, but he lacked grace and inspiration. And grace and inspiration were gifts Rasmus had in excess, he had not ever been the largest templar around, but he was fast and decisive. He was also accustomed to moving in armor, and Regh was not. Once he was inside the polearm's range, it was over, the blade sang through unimbued armor and blood followed. Heart's blood, the strike had been good… over so quickly that Regh looked confused when Rasmus danced away again, out of the polearm's reach. He stood for a long, stunned moment before finally falling face first into the dust their short conflict had stirred up.

Rasmus moved up beside Moriah, viewing the devastation from her vantage point. None would survive this. The assassins were only making certain now, but it was over. "Moriah. My sister." He said it awkwardly. How he could he celebrate, exult in the joy of her ascension, when he was splashed with her brother's death blood? "Graceful in Aion's eyes…"

She spun, burying her face in his chest and he sighed, gathering her up. "I'm so sorry, little one." He breathed, cradling her to him. Her wings were a great presence, heavy, their feathers ruffling in the breeze, but he remembered being so unwilling to pull them back after he'd finally gotten them. Their feathers were silk, the featureless black of a newly ascended.

"It's over." One of the assassins stated slowly, his gaze on Moriah. He nodded slowly, bending to pick up a feather. He ran the inky blackness through his claws, then smiled. "Welcome, sister." He said, giving one gentle stroke to her wing. They each did it turn, until Rasmus himself reached down and took one from the ground. It was good luck to be present at an ascension, and the first feathers dropped were a badge of grace and luck. A token of blessing.

"Blood for blood." Moriah snapped, and he grinned at her.

"Blood for blood." He echoed.


End file.
